


This is Where the War Ends

by aschuylersister



Series: Under the Same Stars [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Modern AU, My canon Boromir is a frat bro and you can't stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschuylersister/pseuds/aschuylersister
Summary: In which Éowyn is so caught up in the fact that she’s never anyone’s favorite, she completely misses the fact that she’s Faramir’s favorite // Modern AU





	This is Where the War Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@gattofish](http://gattofish.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2018! I love Éowyn and Faramir and I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you do too :)
> 
> Also major shoutout to the incomparable [fisheyed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fisheyed/pseuds/fisheyed) for being the greatest most supportive beta in all the kingdoms of Men ily

Aragorn never laughs. And it drives Éowyn _crazy_ , because one of the only things she’s ever been able to do is make people laugh. It’s a skill you need, being the only girl in a house full of serious men whose heads are full of serious male things, who only lighten up when they’ve had too much to drink or when Éowyn has her smile turned up full megawatt. When she moved away for college, she quickly learned to be evasive when asked where she’s from or what her parents do, because the first time she was ever asked that question she learned very quickly that she didn’t want anyone here to know the answer.

“Wyoming. They’re farmers,” she’d say dismissively, quickly smiling as big as she could and repeating the question back, and nine times out of ten they’d be so quick to jump all over the chance to talk about their homes and families that they’d forget all about hers. And she never had to tell them that when she said ‘farmers’ she actually meant massive-scale ranchers who owned about half the state of Wyoming.

Aragorn is the first person who throws her attitude back at her, and she spends way too much time wondering if that’s why she gets that funny feeling in her stomach every time she sees him.

“Wyoming. They’re farmers,” she told him, and he stared at her blankly so she bared her teeth in a convincing smile and took in a breath to ask him where he’s from and what he’s doing here. His reply came so fast that she didn’t even have time to finish that breath.

“What kind of farmers?” His face was humorless, his eyes veiled, and she was a bit unnerved.

“Ranchers,” she said hesitantly, because she’s never been a very good liar. “Horses. Cattle. Ranchers.”

Aragorn looked amused. “Éowyn. Is your last name Rohan, by any chance?”

Éowyn was too surprised to blink. “Ye- I mean, yes, but… How did you know that?”

Aragorn laughed like he knew he was right, and the sound of it absolutely infuriated her. “We learned about your family in my U.S. history class. Don’t you own like half the Midwest or something? What in God’s name are you doing out here?”

Éowyn scowled, bit her lip, curled her hands into fists and then uncurled them. She smiled. “Well, we have to be friends now.”

He tilted his head to one side, but that amused glint never left his eyes. “Why?”

“You know too much about me.” 

* * *

Éowyn and Aragorn are friends, the best of friends, but Éowyn wants more than that. But every time it’s on the tip of her tongue, every time she feels that if she keeps all this love in her chest any longer she’ll explode, the only thing she can see is Arwen. Arwen, the friend Aragorn had for all the years before Éowyn showed up, the graduate student who is ethereal and brilliant and gives genuinely useful GE advice to awkward, gangly first-years like her.

Éowyn isn’t like Arwen. Her hair doesn’t glow and run down her back in a chocolate river, it has the same color and consistency as the straw that her uncle buys up in the millions of pounds. Éowyn isn’t brilliant. She got into aerospace engineering just because it was the combination of words that most seemed to shock and impress everyone around her, and that was just the effect she was going for. Now that she’s actually taking classes, however, she’s quickly realizing that maybe getting rockets up in the sky isn’t so easy after all. Mr. Captain of the Fencing Team Aragorn is no help when it comes to this crisis of self-assurance. He’s doubling in political science and religion, and annoyingly enough he’s perfectly suited to both.

“You belong in the Middle Ages,” she tells him one day over lunch, with a slight edge to her voice. “You’re so weird. You have actual swords in your room. You talk without using contractions. You glare at people and they do what you say.”

Aragorn arches one eyebrow, and her stomach flips over. “I glare at you plenty, and you never do what I say.”

Éowyn smirks, because that’s true, and inside she wonders if that’s the only reason he’s stuck around so long. “I’m serious though. Don’t you ever feel like you were born in the wrong decade? Or in your case, century?”

Aragorn shrugs and takes an inhumanly large bite of food. “No. I belong where I belong. I’m here. No use questioning why I’m not anywhere else.”

Éowyn digs her nails into her palms to keep from screeching at him like she wants to. She hates how sure of himself he is, how absolutely crazy he is and how little he cares. He knows who he is and he knows where he’s going. She wishes she could say the same.

* * *

“I can’t tell if he likes her. I mean, obviously he _likes_ her, but does he like her like her? They’ve known each other for three years, if they were going to get together then why haven’t they just done it already?” Éowyn cuts her rant off abruptly because she’s so distracted by the sudden blueness of the sky behind her brother. “Is there snow on the ground yet?” she asks, her voice softer this time.

Éomer rolls his eyes. “What does it matter? The only thing you want to talk about is ‘Aragorn this’ and ‘Aragorn that’?” He drops the hand he’s holding the phone in, and for a brief second all Éowyn sees on her screen is blurry flashes. Sky. Ground ( _not covered with snow yet_ , Éowyn notes). Éomer’s jean-clad legs as he strides across the field. Back to the sky. He raises his arm and the camera refocuses on his face. His hair is longer, it’s tied back, and he’s growing a beard. Éowyn’s always been close to her brother, but he was always so jealous of and yet so attached to their cousin Théodred in a way she never was. Now, Éomer’s jealousy and love bind him to that place, and he will stay and work on that land even though it will never truly be his. Éowyn gave up on that dream when they were children. “Éowyn, why don’t you come home? It’s been months. Aren’t you tired of the sea?”

Éowyn sighs, rearranging the blanket around her where she sits on her bed. She misses her brother, she misses his face, and her wish to see him means that in her desperation she picks up the phone and calls more often than not. Even though she knows it won’t be worth it, knows every conversation is going to end right here.

“I can’t come home, Éomer. Not yet, anyways. There’s nothing there for me anymore.”

Éomer glares at her accusingly. “This land is part of your blood as much as it’s a part of mine. You belong to it. You can’t turn your back on it.”

It’s Éowyn’s turn to scowl now. “I don’t belong to anyone or anything. Not Uncle Theoden. Not you. And certainly not a piece of dirt,” she sputters, searching for something that will hurt him. “I accepted the fact that after mom and dad died, my life and breath came by the mercy of Uncle Théoden. He will never see us as his children, not like Théodred. He fell _apart_ when Théodred -” God, she can’t say it. Even after a year she can’t say the word _died_. “He keeps you around because you’re the heir now. He doesn’t love us, Éomer, not like that. And the sooner you get that through your head, the better.”

Éomer stops walking. His jaw is set and his mouth is drawn. Éowyn feels her heart leap up into her throat, because as many times as they’ve had this fight, she’s never taken it this far, and it’s too far, she knows it is, but pride sits in her chest like a weight and she refuses to blink.

Éomer laughs, a harsh, drawn out noise. “Is that all?”

Éowyn can’t breathe, and she has to stand her ground. “That’s all,” she says stiffly. She presses the ‘end call’ button with a shaking hand. She doesn’t know what she would do if Éomer hung up on her, so she doesn’t give him the chance.

* * *

“Hello, Éowyn.”

“Hey,” Éowyn says back, smiling despite the fact that this is a phone call and Aragorn definitely cannot see her. That is, he definitely can’t see her unless he happens to be lurking in the fourth floor girl’s bathroom.

“So, funny question, when you packed for West Coast sunshine, did you bring a ball gown?”

Éowyn almost drops her mascara wand. “A what?”

“An old friend is in Sigma Alpha Epsilon. They’re having a masquerade ball tonight, super fancy, some charity event or something, but he offered me an invitation and I really don’t want to go alone.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Éowyn teases, but her heart is stuttering along at about a million miles an hour and she’s completely abandoned her eye makeup in favor of grinning at herself in the mirror like an idiot.

“Very funny, Éowyn.”

Éowyn rolls her eyes. “And when is this event so horrible you can’t bear to go alone taking place?”

“Tonight. I know it’s short notice, but Arwen had to cancel and -”

If Aragorn says anything else, Éowyn doesn’t hear. _Arwen had to cancel_.

If Éowyn’s being honest, what else did she expect? _Arwen had to cancel._

Éowyn plasters on a wan smile, even though she knows Aragorn can’t see.

“Tonight’s fine. As long as you promise to dance with me.”

“Thank God, Éowyn you’re the best. I’ll pick you up at around eight?”

“Sounds good. See you at eight.”

Éowyn pulls the phone away from her ear and hangs up. She grips the edges of the sink as she feels the all too familiar lead weight in her chest begin to sink.

She finds it hard to breathe.

Because Aragorn would die for her, she knows that in her bones, but it offers no comfort because he’s living for Arwen. And Éowyn is always going to be second best.

* * *

Éowyn’s dress is emerald green.

It’s a simple silk, with thin straps and a deep v-neck and a skirt that flares out and pools around her feet and makes her feel vaguely like a princess.

Vaguely.

Aragorn picks her up at 7:56, and hands her a small black mask that matches his own, and when they get to the frat house he opens her door and threads her hand through his elbow as they walk up the steps and she might have felt like a princess if she wasn’t wondering if he wishes it was Arwen on his arm instead.

Inside, it feels like a different world. Every girl is wearing a pretty dress, every guy is wearing a tux. Champagne is carried around on silver trays, and classical music is playing. Everyone is wearing a mask, making it that much harder to distinguish features. Aragorn leads her deeper into the crowd, clearly looking for someone.

“Boromir!” he shouts, dropping Éowyn’s arm to wave at someone Éowyn doesn’t see or recognize.

A head in the crowd turns. “Aragorn!” A very tall, handsome person with reddish-brown hair and a devilish smile comes pushing through the crowds of people towards them, laughing. He sweeps Aragorn up in a bear hug. “So you made it,” he exclaims, a bit too loud for indoors. His attention swivels to Éowyn. “Now, you’re not Arwen.”

As if she needed another knife to the heart today.

“No, this is my friend Éowyn,” Aragorn steps in smoothly. “Éowyn, this is Boromir. We studied abroad together our first year.”

“Pleasure,” Éowyn says, smiling. She nudges Aragorn with her shoulder. “All this talk about you having friends and finally I meet one of them.”

Boromir laughs warmly. “Oh, I like her. Oh!” he says as if he just remembered something. “Aragorn, I wanted you to meet- Faramir! Faramir, get over here.” Nearby, someone who looks too much like Boromir not to be his brother stops his conversation and steps over to where they stand. Boromir claps the newcomer on the shoulder. “Aragorn, at long last you meet my brother Faramir. Faramir, I’ve told you about Aragorn.”

“You have,” Faramir agrees, the measured softness of his voice a stark contrast to his brother. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He turns to Éowyn. “And you are?”

Éowyn smiles, though her eyes hang on his for longer than she thought they would. They’re a bright gray behind the mask. “Éowyn. Pleasure.”

Faramir nods to her, almost a slight bow, and for a second with the dress and the mask she can’t help but feel like she might be a princess after all.

Suddenly, someone comes up and whispers something in Boromir’s ear, before disappearing the way they came. Boromir grins. “Ah! Seems the alumni have left.” He offers her a wink. “Excuse me for a moment."

“Everybody quiet!” Éowyn didn’t think it possible for anything to be louder than the din in the house, but this voice somehow manages to carry above the crowd. As if on cue, the music fades, and everyone’s attention swivels to a few feet to the left of Éowyn.

Boromir climbs atop a table, looking all at once dashing, debonair and dangerous, the fabric of his suit rippling against his skin, his hair unkempt, his eyes glittering behind his mask. He wields aloft what appears to be a sword crudely fashioned from empty beer cans.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my thanks for being here on this fine evening,” he drawls, the words dripping with all kinds of charm. Éowyn grins, folding her arms and rocking back on her heels. To her surprise, she almost bumps against Faramir. When did he shuffle so close? She looks for Aragorn, but he’s on the opposite side of the table, gazing up at Boromir with rapt attention and a fondly exasperated smile. “I’m not much in the way of words, so on behalf of Sigma Alpha Epsilon, let me just say…” Éowyn glances around. The room is at attention, every eye fixed on Boromir, every face quirked in some type of smile. The man is a born leader, she’ll give him that. Without warning, Boromir’s attention refocuses on a singular person somewhere back in the crowd. “What is this _music_? It’s a party, not Prince Charming’s fucking ball!” On cue, the classical strains are replaced by thumping bass that pulsates through the very walls. Glasses go up and the gathered erupt in a cacophony of cheers. Boromir raises his sword and roars along with them.

The three remaining, Aragorn, Faramir and Éowyn all grin at each other.

“That’s Boromir,” Aragorn offers, and Éowyn shakes her head.

“He’s something alright.”

“Aragorn, do you mind if I borrow Éowyn for a moment?” Faramir asks, and Éowyn is taken aback, head swiveling a bit too fast to be inconspicuous as she tries to catch Aragorn’s reaction. His face remains as impassive as ever, and as much as Faramir may or may not intrigue her, the most desperate part of her prickles with alarm. _Say you mind. Say you mind, because if you say you mind I’ll know._

“Of course not,” Aragorn says genially, and Éowyn’s heart sinks into her shoes. “I’m going to go find Boromir.” He nods to Faramir and offers Éowyn a small smile before he disappears into the crowd _._ Faramir holds out his arm to Éowyn, and she laces her fingers through his elbow with some reluctance. She feels lightheaded.

“So… ” She attempts as he begins to walk, leading her who knows where. “You’re Boromir’s brother. He’s… quite a character.”

Éowyn doesn’t dare look at his face, instead focusing on spatial awareness and taking in every little detail of the party, but when Faramir replies his voice is fond yet exasperated. “So it appears. My brother is… larger than life, shall we put it.”

“Where are we going?” she blurts out. She never was one for subtlety.

Faramir laughs. “Do you trust me?”

Éowyn snorts. “Absolutely not. I met you two minutes ago.”

He laughs again. “Good. But can you trust me right now?”

Éowyn mock-sighs. “I suppose.”

Faramir leads her up the staircase, then up another, smaller staircase, until suddenly she finds herself in a cramped passageway staring at a two-step ladder that goes up to a hole in the literal fucking roof.

“You’re kidding,” she says, as Faramir scampers up the steps and peers down at her through the hole.

“You coming?” he asks, grinning.

Éowyn looks down at herself, then back up at Faramir. “Um. Ball gown. Heels. Help.”

Faramir shakes his head and takes a knee, reaching down for her. “And it would be such a shame to mess up either. Grab my hands.”

Éowyn does so, and, albeit jerkily, he pulls her up with surprising strength.

They’re standing on the roof, Éowyn realizes with some shock, with a perfect, unobstructed view of campus, and further in the distance, the city.

“Wow,” is all she can say.

“Wow,” Faramir repeats, teasing, a life spent with Éomer means she can tell. “Succinct, I like it.”

“Oh stop,” she says, matching his mirth. “If you’re here, you already took the SAT. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

He laughs. “And here I thought my vocabulary endeared me to women.”

For the first time since he brought her up here, Éowyn takes her eyes off the view and looks at Faramir. “Why’d you bring me up here?”

He shrugs. “Thought someone as beautiful as you deserved an equally beautiful view.”

 _No. Oh no no no no no._ Éowyn takes a step back as alarm bells sound off in her head. But alarm bells for… what, exactly? Why shouldn’t she be on this roof with this charming, handsome, mysterious guy. It’s not like she’s cheating on Aragorn. He isn’t hers to cheat on.

“I- um- I’m not going to kiss you,” Éowyn blurts out, and then immediately considers diving off this roof. She wonders how fast she’d die.

Faramir starts laughing.

Not the response she was expecting, but better than the one she _was_ expecting.

“Didn’t want you to,” Faramir says, and _what is that supposed to mean?_ “But yikes, am I that awful to look at?”

Éowyn sputters. “No- I mean- no, you’re not… I just… I’m not… _Available_ , like that.”

“Ah,” Faramir says, nodding. “I assumed as much. He’s a lucky man.”

Éowyn breathes out in relief. “Thank you. For understanding, that is.”

“And yet I wonder,” Faramir continues, and Éowyn thinks her breath of relief came too soon. “Why you still came up here with me.”

There are a million things Éowyn could say. She could argue that he didn’t tell her where they were going, that she didn’t want to be rude, that she’s just really bad at saying no, but they would all be lies.

Instead she wonders how much those gray eyes always see.

* * *

Back downstairs, Éowyn politely excuses herself to find Aragorn. He does owe her that dance, after all.

She finds him.

On the dance floor.

Arwen is here.

When did she get here?

Aragorn is dancing.

With Arwen.

It’s not a big deal, it’s really not, and she shouldn’t be so fucking _sad_ about it. She shouldn’t be standing here with her heart in her throat and the blood rushing so loud in her head that suddenly she can’t hear the music.

She shouldn’t be running, running to the nearest bathroom, she shouldn’t be slamming the door and locking it behind her.

She sinks down onto the tile, jams a fist into her mouth and cries.

She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting there when there’s a knock on the door that startles her from her ruminating. _Aragorn_ , she thinks hopefully, but the voice that calls to her from the other side of the wood is a bit higher and softer. “Éowyn? Are you okay? Someone said they saw you go in here half an hour ago. Do you need some water, or anything?”

Éowyn sits up and scrubs furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand. She pulls it away and realizes with some consternation that the half-dried tears are dark with mascara. How perfect. Instead she takes a cigarette out of her purse and holds it between her teeth. She clicks at the lighter with her nail but her hand is shaking so badly she can’t move it to her face.

“Éowyn?”

Éowyn’s lips tremble. “I’m alright, Faramir. Please go away.”

There’s a heavy pause on the other side of the door.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Éowyn’s shock dissipates some of the heavy, aching sadness that seems to cloud her heart so often. “What?”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m not gonna come in, unless you want me to. But I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

_If you need me._

Éowyn doesn’t _need_ anyone. She never has. Except maybe Aragorn, late at night when she’s alone and desperate and - _oh_ that’s the feeling she hates the most, the bitter taste of desperation on her tongue and the way that gaping hole in her chest aches and she has to curl in on herself and feel the tears bleed through the fabric of her pants and she feels sick just thinking about it. It almost makes her want to reach out. To undo the lock on the door. Even if it’s not Aragorn on the other side. Just so she’s not alone.

Éowyn slides across the floor. Pride sits in her chest like a weight, and she presses herself up against the door, feeling every inch of her spine dig into the wood. She turns her head and presses her ear too, holding her breath as she strains to hear any sign of life on the other side.

Soft, shallow breaths, muffled by wood.

Éowyn curls her fingers into the rug and sinks down as her bones relax.

She’s not alone.

Not tonight.

* * *

 Éowyn needs to go to the store. She needs a new toothbrush.

That’s what she tells herself.

And if she takes the long way, down frat row instead of cutting across campus, so what? She’s avoiding all the foot traffic.

That’s what she tells herself.

And if her feet accidentally jaywalk across the street, accidentally walk up the steps of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house, if she _accidentally_ rings the doorbell, well…

There’s nothing she can tell herself for that one. Just her own stupidity.

A boy she doesn’t recognize answers. He looks hungover, and he offers her a blank stare. “Can I help you?”

It’s at this point that Éowyn realizes she has absolutely no plan.

“Hi, um… I was here at the party last night, and I… I think I might have left… You know, is Faramir here? Faramir Stewardson?”

The guy shakes his head. “Faramir? No, he has class all day on Fridays.”

Éowyn curls her fingers up into her palms and bounces on the balls of her feet. Stupid, stupid. Coming here was stupid. “Oh, that’s okay. Thank you.” She makes to leave, but the guy glances back over his shoulder without closing the door.

“I think his brother’s here, though. Boromir! Hey, Boromir!”

Éowyn’s eyes go wide. “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t think it’s necessary -”

“What’s up? Oh, hey, Aragorn’s friend. Éowyn, right?” Boromir is standing at the door now in place of the guy who answered, completely naked except for a pair of boxer shorts covered in snowmen. Éowyn feels her cheeks warm, and she does her very best to melt into the porch.

“Yeah… Sorry, this was a mistake, I’m gonna-”

“What’re you doing here? You’re looking for Faramir? Come inside.” Boromir takes a step back and opens the door wider, motioning for her to come in.

Against all better judgement, Éowyn doesn’t know how to refuse.

She steps through, past Boromir, and while he closes the door behind her she takes a moment to look around. The place is decidedly less magical in the daylight. The grand staircase is littered with empty beer cans and champagne glasses, and the furniture in the living room to the left is askew. Boromir doesn’t seem to take notice of any of this, instead yawning and shuffling towards the kitchen, not waiting for Éowyn to follow. She jog-walks to catch up with his strides.

 “Hey, um, thanks so much for letting me in, but it’s really okay, I was just looking for Faramir but if he’s not here-”

Boromir spares her a backwards glance. “Why are you looking for him? Is there a message I can give him or something?”

Éowyn finds herself without an answer. “I… I really don’t know. I never really got to talk to him, or thank him for-” She stops herself mid-sentence. Does she really want Boromir to know that she sat in his bathroom and cried for hours while his brother sat outside the door, that when she finally pulled herself together she brushed past him without so much as a good-bye?

Boromir gives her a strange look, but he doesn’t pry, and it passes as quickly as it came, replaced by a mischievous grin. “Looking for my brother, eh? Faramir never was one for fast impressions, he must’ve really pulled himself together for you.”

Éowyn resolutely tries not to blush. “Like I said, coming here was a mistake. I should really be going.”

Boromir brandishes a beer can at her. “You can’t stay for one drink? Somebody’s gotta help me finish these off.”

Éowyn squints at him. “It’s 9:30. AM.”

Boromir shrugs. “Perfect.” Without warning, he flings the can in his hand up into a wide arc, and Éowyn just barely catches it.

Éowyn points at him accusingly. “One drink. One.”

* * *

 One drink turns into two.

Which turns into three which turns into four which turns into Éowyn and Boromir sprawled across the sofa, giggling like maniacs.

“And then,” Boromir continues, laughing so hard he can barely keep himself upright, “he rode the horse right into the living room. Like it was perfectly normal! Dad almost had a heart attack.”

Éowyn wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist, grinning. “God, he’s not even here and I feel like I know him already, your brother.”

Boromir grins at her. “He’s worth getting to know, that one.”

Éowyn takes one last drink, finishing off the can. “Are you two still close with your dad?”

Boromir’s face grows pained, and Éowyn immediately senses she’s stepped onto something sensitive.

“I am,” he says slowly. “Or at least, I try to be. But my dad… He fought in the Gulf War. When he came back, he wasn’t the same. Had all these archaic ideas about the oldest son being the chosen one, the superior, he never… Well, to put it bluntly, he treats Faramir like absolute shit. He’s sick, he’s… He’s not right. It hurt Faramir for a really long time. But I think he understands that it’s not anyone’s fault. He just doesn’t go home anymore.” Boromir rubs his face, scratching at the stubble that has appeared there. “I do, though, I feel like I’m the last link between them, because really, Faramir and my dad, they’re the only family I’ve got left. I don’t want to lose either of them. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

Éowyn shakes her head grimly. “It’s okay. Fucked up families are something I can understand.”

* * *

Aragorn is going home for Christmas. Not to his home, but to Arwen’s home, and that one hurt worse than anything else, because _they still aren’t technically together for God’s sake_ , but he’s going to Arwen’s home and Éowyn is left here because after that disastrous phone call with Éomer she’s still gently refusing to go home, maybe ever.

She’ll sit alone in her dorm every Christmas for the rest of her life if she has to.

(Not that she’s being melodramatic, or anything.)

So on Christmas Eve day, a day she fully expected to spend sitting on the floor in her pajamas, eating ramen and watching sappy Christmas movies that she can’t stand, she did _not_ expect to see Faramir standing outside her door, wearing a ridiculous-looking scarf and _smiling_.

“Hello,” he says. Éowyn almost slams the door shut, not because she doesn’t want to see him but because she’s wearing a t-shirt with a _sloth_ on it, and that’s just ridiculous.

“Hi,” she says weakly. “Merry… Christmas?"

Faramir checks a watch he isn’t wearing. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Why aren’t you home?” she asks, then flashes back to her conversation with Boromir and promptly winces again. “Sorry. That sounded bad. I don’t mean it like ‘why aren’t you home,’ more like ‘why aren’t you home’.... This isn’t helping.”

Faramir grins. “Aragorn told Boromir that you weren’t going home for break, and Boromir told me. Coincidentally, I’m not going home either, and since I don’t particularly want to spend Christmas alone, I was hoping you don’t either.”

Éowyn doesn’t have an answer for that.

“I… I’m gonna close the door, I’m gonna get dressed, and you better still be here when I open it again.”

Faramir doesn’t answer, he just smiles. Éowyn closes the door. And lets out a silent scream. Well, now what?

Hurriedly she throws on a sweater and some jeans, and throws her hair back in a slightly less messy braid. Anxious she’s kept him waiting long enough, she throws the door back open. He’s leaning against the wall across the hallway, and when he sees her he straightens. “That was fast.”

Éowyn shrugs. “Don’t act so surprised, not all girls take an hour to get ready.”

Faramir holds out a hand. “Are you gonna get a jacket?”

Éowyn blinks once. “What?”

He smiles good-naturedly. “What, did you think we were just gonna sit in your dorm all day? Come on.” He winks. “Trust me.”

Éowyn can’t help but roll her eyes, even as a pleased flush works its way unwilling up her neck and onto her face.

She turns away quickly to grab her coat before he can see.

* * *

 They go into the city, because Faramir has a car, something which makes Éowyn practically quiver with jealousy. They go downtown, and after about six parking mishaps they make it outside to see the lights.

They walk side-by-side, not touching, and Éowyn can’t help but feel like there’s something between them other than the cold December air.

It unsettles her to her core.

“So,” Éowyn says, walking slightly faster and angling her body so she can see his whole face. “You got any plans, or are we just gonna wander around aimlessly until we find something interesting?”

Faramir grins, still not making eye contact, still fixed on something up ahead. “I wouldn't call it ‘plans.’ Just somewhere I wanna take you.” A few blocks later, and Faramir stops on the sidewalk outside a particular building and grabs her shoulders to turn her towards him before she can read any signs. “We’re here,” he announces. Without further ceremony, he puts his hand over her eyes and starts moving, knees pressing into the backs of her legs and the lag in Éowyn’s brain means she doesn’t immediately start walking.

“I knew it,” she crows, only half joking. “You brought me out here to murder me. This is your sinister waterfront lair.”

She can’t see but she can hear when Faramir laughs. “Oh, you got me alright. Hope you’re prepared to die”

Éowyn grins. “Always.”

Éowyn feels the texture of the ground change under her feet, and suddenly the hand is removed from her eyes. She blinks, temporarily disoriented as light floods her eyes.

She spins in a small circle, taking everything in, and her eyes land back on Faramir.

“This is an arcade,” she says, but she can’t keep the grin off her face.

“Ah, but it’s not just any arcade,” he says, motioning around with a small flourish. “This arcade is an _old_ arcade, with some of the oldest arcade games in America. There are ones from the early 1900s. But you can still play all of them.”

Éowyn takes another look around. “You brought me to an arcade,” she says, still smiling. “And what made you think that would be a good idea?”

Faramir shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, you just seem like the type of girl who would be very interested in an afternoon of kicking my ass at skeeball.”

For the first time, Éowyn feels a little brave. She turns to Faramir with a small smile, and he watches her hesitantly. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh Faramir?” He doesn’t say anything, he’s just watching her, and he seems to be holding his breath. Éowyn winks. “Good thing you’re right.”

* * *

Hours later, and they’re sitting in a booth in one of the only diners in the city that’s still open this late on Christmas Eve. Their food is long gone, and now they’re just sitting, talking, looking at the city lights that twinkle outside, and Éowyn feels… content. She’s not wishing it was Aragorn sitting across from her, a fact that kind of surprises her. She doesn’t even wish she was home all that much. She’s okay.

“Hey,” Faramir says, nudging her out of her thoughts. She looks over at him, and he smiles. “Merry Christmas.”

He holds up his phone, the lock screen reads midnight, December 25th.

Éowyn smiles back. “Merry Christmas. I’m happy you came and got me today, mean it. If I couldn’t be home… Here is pretty good, too.”

“So who is it you’re avoiding?” Éowyn’s face must be telling, because he offers explanation. “You have to be avoiding someone at home, that’s why you’re here. Take me for instance. I’m avoiding my dad.” Éowyn makes to feign surprise, but Faramir stops her. “It’s okay. I know Boromir told you.” He shakes his head in that fond, exasperated way of his. “My brother’s strong suit has never been keeping secrets.”

“Everyone,” Éowyn says flatly, and Faramir seems to know not to say anything. “My father died, and then my mother. And then, a year ago, my cousin Théodred. And now all that’s left is my brother, Éomer, and my uncle, Théoden. And I just… I can’t do it. My uncle raised my brother and I, but it took losing his _real_ son for me to see that we can never be his children, not really. And my brother… Now that he’s the heir to everything, there’s so much pressure on him, he refuses to see it. And we got in this horrible fight and I said some horrible things, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me. _I_ wouldn’t ever forgive me. And if I wasn’t going to go home before, I certainly can’t go home now.” Éowyn finishes in a rush of air, suddenly feeling that prickly, uncomfortable empty feeling, like she’s said too much too quickly and she can’t take it back.

Faramir reaches out and takes her hand, and she lets him. “For what it’s worth,” he says. “The damage doesn't sound completely irreparable. Maybe you just need some time. And…” He gives her that crooked smile of his. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Éowyn looks down at their intertwined hands. “Yeah. I’m glad I’m here too.”

* * *

Faramir is letting Éowyn drive his car.

He’s letting her drive it, because it’s almost February which means she’s been pestering him for a month now, and he’s finally caved. But he’s been impressed with her driving so far, she’s almost killed them less than Faramir usually almost kills them, so for now he’s slouched in the passenger seat and enjoying not having to focus. They’re wrapped in companionable silence, and Éowyn is humming along to the radio.

Suddenly, she remembers something. “Oh, is that the time?” She spares a glance at the clock, and another one over at Faramir. “Do you mind if we head back?”

Faramir raises his eyebrows. “You got somewhere to be?”

She nods, taking the exit to head back to campus. “I usually have dinner with Aragorn on Thursdays. Haven’t cancelled yet.” Faramir snorts derisively, and Éowyn’s hackles are immediately raised. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, fully aware of the way the pitch of her voice goes up.

Faramir raises his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you clearly don’t approve of something. Say it, Faramir, I can handle it.” She’s fully aware how icy she sounds, how sharp the blade in her voice is, but the temper by which her forefathers lived and died is welling up inside and for a moment she can’t find the strength to care.

“I just think,” Faramir says, and his voice is calm, measured, and she hates that. “That you being completely hung up on _Aragorn_ is a road you don’t deserve.”

Éowyn’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel. “Oh, so I’m not good enough for him? Is that it? Because-”

“ _Éowyn_.” Faramir’s tone is annoyed now, and alarm bells go off in her gut. “You know that’s not what I meant. You deserve better. Someone who actually…”

Éowyn can’t breathe. “Say it,” she snarls, and even she is surprised by the feralness, the ferocity in her own voice.

He responds to it, like fire on kerosene. “Someone who actually _wants_ you,” he says, and _oh that’s it. There it is._

“Someone who wants me,” she repeats, her voice soft. Dangerous. She injects as much venom into her tone as she can, as much sarcasm and repulsion and mockery as she can, because she knows it will hurt him, and hurting people seems to be an art form she’s perfected. “Someone like _you_?”

Faramir laughs. And suddenly she’s back looking at Éomer, and he’s laughing, quietly and bitterly, and she knows she’s gone too far, she knows she’s messed up and she’s panicking and she’s free falling because she lost Éomer and oh dear God she can’t lose Faramir too she’s sorry she’s so sorry she-

“Éowyn!”

No one’s ever said her name like that before.

Faramir is reaching across the console, he’s grabbing for the steering wheel, his eyes are wide and panicked, he’s lunging, Éowyn looks up.

When did that car get there?

She’s out of time.

 _I’m sorry, Faramir_.

* * *

Éowyn is awake before she can properly open her eyes. She’s used to quiet when she wakes up, maybe the low hum of the air conditioner or the occasional distant noise of the city outside. But there is noise all around her. Steady beeps that seem strangely in tune with the beat of her heart, a whole cacophony of noises coming from outside - shuffling, quick footsteps, something on wheels - and a bit nearer, the low hum of voices. Éowyn frowns, twitches fitfully, and the voices come to an abrupt halt.

“Is she awake?”

“I don’t- Éowyn? Éowyn, can you hear me?”

Wait.

Éowyn knows that voice.

She opens her eyes.

“Uncle,” she says, her voice cracking from disuse. She feels tears begin to well.

“Éowyn, my child.” Theoden is sitting in a chair next to her bed. He’s smiling at her. A single tear falls down his cheek.

“Uncle,” she repeats, her voice still full of disbelief. The rest of the room begins to come into focus behind him, a hospital room, she now realizes. Standing behind him is- “Éomer!”

Éomer cracks a watery grin. “Hello, sister mine.”

Éowyn laughs, a broken, incredulous laugh. They’re here, they’re really here, and she’s never been happier to see anyone in her entire life.

“What- But how- How did you-”

“Your friend Aragorn called. We were on the first flight out.” Éomer frowns teasingly at her. “I haven’t slept in days.”

“Aragorn,” Theoden says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “That boy hasn’t left. He’s in and out, always pacing. I think he went to go get food. He’ll be so happy you’re awake.”

 _Aragorn_. Memories come flooding back to her, and suddenly her heart has turned into a battleground.

“I have to talk to him,” she says softly. “Too much has gone unsaid.”

Theoden’s brow creases, but he nods. “When he gets back we’ll leave you be for a bit. But for now,” he reaches across the blankets and takes Éowyn’s hand, “I’m just happy to see you. It’s been too long, Éowyn.”

Éowyn begins to cry in earnest now. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’m sorry I haven’t come home. Éomer, I’m sorry- God, I’m so sorry, for those awful things I said, if you could ever forgive me I-”

“It’s okay,” Éomer interjects softly. “I promise, it’s okay. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Éowyn laughs shakily, hysterically. “Uncle Théoden, I-”

“Éowyn,” Théoden says, and there are tears in his eyes, and he’s calm, he’s so calm, how are they all so calm when Éowyn feels like she’s shattering? “I lost Théodred,” and now Éowyn really is going to lose it. “I lost my son. Do you think I could stand it if I lost you too?”

Éowyn is shattering, she’s free falling.

She’s crying.

She sits up on shaky limbs and she hugs him with everything she’s got.

* * *

 “I think we’re gonna be okay,” Éowyn says. She’s propped up on a mountain of pillows and she’s ingested more Jello than Aragorn thinks should be humanly possible, and she’s cried herself calm again. She let her family go figure out a hotel and get some sleep, but it’s okay because Aragorn is with her now. “For the first time since Théodred died… I feel like we’re gonna be okay.”

Aragorn smiles at her, and it doesn’t do anything funny to her stomach. Just makes her heart really, incredibly happy.

“I’m happy for you, Éowyn. Well, I’m not happy that you’re here, actually I’d really really like to know _what the hell happened_ , but I’m happy about your family. You deserve all the happiness, Éowyn.”

Éowyn winces slightly. “You know what happened. I was in a car accident.”

“I know you were, but you’re a good driver. You go way too fast, but you’re safe. Were you drinking? Was that it? Because-”

“No!” Éowyn yelps. “God, no. I’m not stupid, Aragorn. I was with Faramir, and we just- we got in a fight.” Aragorn sits back slightly, eyeing her carefully. He doesn’t say it, he’s waiting for her, but the question is clear in his eyes. _About what?_ Éowyn sighs. “About you.” One eyebrow goes up, but still he says nothing. “I don’t- Please don’t make me say it. Please don’t make me say it, Aragorn.”

Aragorn exhales. He looks at the ceiling, then back at Éowyn. His eyes are heavy. “I couldn’t make you happy, Éowyn. You’re my best friend, and I love you to death but I couldn’t make you happy. Not like that.”

Éowyn closes her eyes and laughs. “I know.” It’s one of the few times in her life she’s seen Aragorn look surprised. “I know. I was just so stupid and so stubborn and- and-” She trails off, and clarity strikes her like a match. “I need to see Faramir,” she says, more to herself than anything else, but Aragorn nods and smiles slightly.

“You should see him. Room 23, if you were wondering.” He winks, and Éowyn smiles.

“I just have to get up the courage first.”

* * *

 As it turns out, courage comes strongest at night.

She waits until past midnight to creep down the hallway towards Faramir’s room, which she realizes is stupid because _Éowyn you idiot what if he’s asleep_ but luck is with her, because when she knocks softly and pushes the door open Faramir is sitting on the edge of his bed with his back to the door, gazing out the window.

He turns, and his face contorts into an expression she’s never seen before when he sees her.

“Éowyn, thank God. They told me you were okay but I- I should’ve come to see you but I-”

“It’s okay,” Éowyn says, smiling slightly. “Can I come in?”

Faramir jerks up, awkwardly backing away from the bed, motioning in with his hands. “Of course, of course you can.”

Éowyn crosses the room, arms wrapped self-consciously around her ribcage, suddenly acutely aware of the blood matted in her hair and the thin hospital gown that’s the only thing between her and the elements. She sits down on the bed opposite Faramir, and for a second there is only silence.

“My family came,” she blurts out abruptly. “My uncle, and my brother. They’re staying for a while. I think…” She darts her eyes up to Faramir’s face and then back down to where she’s avidly examining the pattern on the sheets. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

Faramir sits down again, and his voice is softer, more sure. “That’s amazing, Éowyn. That’s really really… good.”

Éowyn dares to make eye contact again. “Has anyone been to see you?”

He nods. “Boromir was here earlier. Nearly gave himself a heart attack yelling at the doctors.” Éowyn grins at that. “My dad…” Faramir sighs. “He’s not coming, let’s put it at that.”

Éowyn slides a hand across the blanket and touches his. “I’m sorry.”

Faramir shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, don’t do that,” Éowyn says adamantly. “Don’t brush it off. I really am sorry, Faramir. He should be here.”

Faramir looks at her hesitantly. “Thank you. But I don’t want him to be here.” He smiles, a genuine smile. “I’d much rather it be you.”

Éowyn smiles, but there’s something else, something else she needs to say. “Aragorn was here, too.”

For the life of her she can’t read Faramir’s expression when he responds. “Oh?”

Éowyn takes a deep breath, now determined. “And we talked about it. And- And you were right. You were more right than you know. He’s not supposed to be with me, he never was, and I was so stupid and so idiotic and-”

“Éowyn?”

Éowyn lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to dance?”

Éowyn thinks she might cry for a second time that day. “There’s no music,” she whispers.

Faramir shrugs, and the smile he gives her is the most confident yet. “That’s okay, we’ll make our own.”

He stands. He offers her both his hands. She places hers into them, and he tugs her up off the bed. He pulls her in close, and begins to sway. He’s humming a song she doesn’t know, and she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

For a moment, Éowyn can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you love Éowyn/Faramir as much as I do and I hope you loved this! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and catch me on tumblr [@kingofthereunitedkingdom](https://kingofthereunitedkingdom.tumblr.com/)


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